


Phoenix

by kat_fanfic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU after Season 3a, Angst, Banter, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established relationship after Chapter One, First Time, Fluff, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Original Character(s), Pack Dynamics, Post Hale Fire, Romance, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:58:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_fanfic/pseuds/kat_fanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, Stiles should have known that even something as innocuous as a history report would force him knee-deep in Derek’s business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family Portrait

_And of course I forgive_  
 _You've seen how I live_  
 _I've got darkness and fears to appease_  
 _My voices and analogies_  
 _Ambitions like ribbons_  
 _Worn bright on my sleeve_

 

It started as a simple school project. In retrospect, Stiles should have known that even something as innocuous as a history report would force him knee-deep in Derek’s business. It was how things seemed to go these days, no matter his initial intentions.

The library was just as stuffy and hush-hush as Stiles remembered it to be. He pulled a face. “Oh yeah, now I remember why I do all my research online.”

Scott snorted a laugh, almost dropping the huge pile of books he was carrying. “Cheer up, man. Look at it this way, maybe you’ll actually find something here that the internet has forgotten about.”

They looked at each other. “Yeah, no,” they said at the same time. They burst out laughing, earning themselves a stern shushing from the omnipresent librarian. Ducking their heads, they quickly made their way over to one of the round tables, throwing their stuff down grumpily. 

Flopping into a chair with a deep and heartfelt sigh, Stiles opened his notepad and studied the notes he’d taken earlier in class. They were supposed to write a report on the history of Beacon Hills using only local resources, hence this little journey into the not-quite-forgotten past of dust and mold. The three best pieces would be printed in a special edition of the _Daily Beacon_ , earning the writers extra college credit. 

It was all a part of the town’s decennial anniversary festivities and Stiles hated it all with a passion. “160 years of chaos and mayhem,” Stiles murmured. “Yay.”

Scott made a little sound of dismay. He’d taken the first book from his pile, a heavy tome titled _Beacon Hills Through the Ages_ , and was staring forlornly at the tiny script that covered the pages. “There aren’t even any pictures,” he moaned.

Stiles snorted. He hadn’t gotten any books yet, strangely reluctant to come up with a concept for his report, let alone start writing it. “You can always spice it up with some of the supernatural crap we’ve dug up that happened here.”

Scott’s eyes lit up. “That’s an awesome idea!”

Stiles’ stomach dropped. “Scott, no. No, no, no. Absolutely not. You are not writing an essay on where the beacon in Beacon Hills comes from. Dude, are you trying to get a failing grade?”

But there was no stoppering up the flood of Scott’s enthusiasm. “Think about it, though. Remember what Deaton said, about all the stuff that will be drawn here because of the Nemeton. Don’t you think that if only one person takes this seriously and maybe gets an advanced warning, that it’s worth the ridicule?”

Stiles stared at his best friend for a long time. “Man,” he said finally. “I hate it when you get all noble and self-sacrificing and shit. For future reference, keep in mind that that’s Derek’s shtick, all right?” He ignored Scott’s blooming smile and turned his notepad over to a blank page, scribbling down a few pointers. “Alright, if you’re hell-bent on screwing up your hard-won jock-of-all-trades reputation, who am I to stop you? Just, make sure not to take it too seriously. Give the reader the benefit of the doubt, and for god’s sake, don’t go into too much detail.”

“Sure,” Scott mumbled, feverishly searching his accumulated books for any mentions of the supernatural. Stiles rolled his eyes, acknowledging the fact that he’d lost his best friend to school work – that was a first – and that he himself was still as clueless about the project as he’d had when he stepped foot into the library. “Also a first,” he murmured.

“Shh,” Scott said absently, scratching down notes as if his life depended on it. 

Gaping, Stiles glared at him accusingly, finally admitting defeat when Scott didn’t so much as twitch under his stare. Heaving a huge sigh, Stiles let his eyes wander around aimlessly. The shelves full of dusty old books didn’t hold his interest much, but a sign on the other end of the hall did.

 _Archives_ , it said in bold letters on the door and instantly, an idea formed in his head. Grinning, Stiles grabbed his stuff and ventured over to the help desk, leaving Scott behind without a second glance. After all, he had a report of his own to write. 

 

* * * 

 

The title page read: “The Great Families of Beacon Hills – A Narrative in Pictures”. Stiles thumbed proudly through the first pages of his report, loving the way the decades old portraits complimented what he’d written. 

He had started with the first ever documented settlers in the area – not surprised that a lot of them were of Irish descent – and had worked his way up through the years. The more he read, the more intrigued he became by how much certain families had influenced the town’s development. 

Apparently, the Argent’s had lived in this area before, if never for long periods of time. It made sense, he figured, for them to check up on the town every decade or so, since its telluric currents had always made it a hotspot for all sorts of things that went bump in the night. He made a mental note to tell Allison what he’d found, sure that she’d get a kick out of knowing more about her complicated family history. 

He almost skipped right over it. He’d made it to around the time he knew his parents had gotten married and as he’d scanned page after page of microfiched newspaper articles, he had kept on the look-out for any mention of their name, so it took him a second to figure out why his eyes were lingering over one particular section. 

It was only a tiny blurb.

_**Derek and Eva Colmillo are happy to announce the engagement of their daughter, Talia, to Markos Hale, son of Rex and Denise Hale** _

His heart stumbled in his chest. He sort of remembered the Hales, even if they’d kept to themselves a lot. Talia Hale had been a formidable beauty, enhanced by a kind sort of authority that, in hindsight, had marked her as Alpha of her pack quite clearly. Her husband had been huge, with a quiet strength that endeared him to anyone, but children especially. Stiles remembered being drawn to the big man like a moth to a flame. 

Heart still beating overtime, Stiles pressed print and clicked the little search box. With trembling hands he typed _HALE_ and pressed Enter. Three out of the four search results were related to the fire. Stiles read all of them. 

It was when he opened the last newspaper page that he gasped. His finger slid over the screen as if he could touch the image underneath it. Report forgotten for the moment, Stiles studied the grainy picture above an article called _Remembering the Hales_. 

It had obviously been taken at a family outing. There was a huge blanket underneath a big tree, piles of food covering at least half the surface. Despite the fact that someone had tried to put the others to order, it was clear that the picture was a lucky shot. 

Stiles could barely make out the faces, and he had a sudden desire to see them clearly. Doing a quick search on his phone, Stiles called the number he’d found right away. 

“Yeah, hi,” he said when someone picked up. “My name is Stiles Stilinski, I’m a student at Beacon Hills High School. I’m writing a report on the history of the town…” He listened for a moment. “Yeah, for the anniversary edition. Look, I’ve been doing some research and I was wondering if you keep copies of the pictures you use in your archives…? You do? Great! Hey, if I send you the name of the article and the date it was printed on, do you think someone could dig one up for me…? Awesome, thank you very much.” 

Reluctantly, he returned to his project. But every so often, his gaze would stray to the printout and he’d sigh through the butterflies living in his belly. 

 

* * * 

 

To: S.Tilinski@bhhs.edu  
From: intern@daily-beacon.com  
Subject: Archive picture  
Attachment: dead_hale_family

yo stiles,  
saw your request. bit creepy, huh, seeing the hales all happy and stuff? did you know they all died like on the next day?! dude if your gonna conjure up their ghosts, I want in!!!!  
Greenberg

 

* * *

 

It only took a meatball sub to distract his Dad sufficiently enough to allow Stiles a look at a certain arrest report. “Security around here is a joke,” he mumbled as he snapped a quick photo of the first page.

While he made small-talk with Dad’s new deputy Parrish, Stiles glanced at the picture before doing a quick calculation in his head. Five weeks. He had to wait five weeks. He could totally do five weeks. 

 

* * *

 

“I got you something for your birthday.” Stiles watched Derek’s eyebrows climb into his hairline. The two of them were sitting on Derek’s brand-new couch, watching a LA Kings game on mute on his brand-new TV and were listening to Isaac putter around upstairs in his brand-new room. 

Even Stiles had to admit that this time, Derek had gone all out trying to make his loft feel like a home. After Cora had left, he’d made amends with Isaac, and even if he wasn’t his Alpha anymore, Isaac had agreed to move back in with him. 

“He said he missed me,” Isaac had told them only a few weeks ago. “And that I was like a brother to him.”

Scott had snorted and raised an eyebrow, a tiny hint of red bleeding into his eyes. “Oh, has he now.”

“Well,” Isaac had amended quickly. “Not in so many words, of course.” 

Now, Derek was taking the wrapped present from Stiles with a bemused expression, turning it carefully around as if it would explode in his hands. Stiles rolled his eyes. At least he hadn’t thrown it back in his face. Yet. 

“My birthday is in a month.”

Stiles flailed. “Oh my _god_ , would you just open the damn present already?”

Derek looked at him.

“So what if it’s a bit early?” Stiles huffed.

One eyebrow was lifted the tiniest bit.

Stiles broke. “Okay, I just couldn’t wait any longer,” he admitted through clenched teeth. “That what you wanted to hear?”

Derek grinned a little and turned his attention back to the gift in his hands. Suddenly nervous, Stiles watched Derek work his fingers under the flaps, pulling the tape off without tearing the paper. “You’re allowed to rip it open, you know,” Stiles commented. “In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s sort of the point.”

Derek sent him a quick scowl, but was too intent on folding away the wrapping paper to actually do something about his irritation. The instant his eyes fell on the plain wooden picture frame, Derek froze.

“How did you…?” Voice breaking awkwardly, Derek hunched into himself, trying to curl around the picture as if someone would take it away from him.

Stiles swallowed. “I found it while doing research for a school project. Got a copy from the newspaper.” 

Derek cleared his throat, studiously not meeting Stiles’ eyes. “This was taken the day before the fire. Eva sent it to a friend, for some sort of collage the two of them were making...” He faltered, before slowly continuing. “We were celebrating Beltane, had a picnic at the park. It was the first time in months that all of us were together, what with Claire being off at college.” 

He brushed a fingertip over the smiling face of a beautiful blond girl. “She was my Dad’s sister, human, like him. He brought her with him when he married Mom and she and Laura were best friends, despite the age gap.”

Stiles listened intently, but didn’t dare to make a sound, lest he break Derek from the spell where he was sharing things about his former life. Even Cora had never talked so openly about the family they’d lost and Stiles soaked it all up, connecting faces to stories almost as if he could share the memories, keep them alive just by listening.

He learned that Derek had lost four siblings that day, three brothers and a sister, and that he’d called his Grandma ‘Dex’. “I don’t know why,” Derek murmured, a pained laugh tumbling from his lips. “The name was some kind of inside joke between Mom and her, and us kids just picked up on it, I guess. I never got a chance to ask, it never even occurred to me to.”

Kyle had loved playing soccer but had been crap at it. Derek smiled, eyes fixed on a boy about eight years of age, with messy hair and the mischievous smile of a born troublemaker. “He got hurt all the time, in all kinds of freak accidents. Dad used to point that out whenever Laura would go on one of her rants how much it sucked to be a werewolf.” Derek straightened up, lowering his voice as he imitated his father. “’At least it gives your brother super-fast healing, or he’d be maimed for life by now’.”

Derek talked about his brother Damian, the four-year-old Alpha that had tried to order his Beta siblings to bring him cookies and Ella, who was Peter’s fiancé and the only one capable of keeping him in check. “She used to smack him upside the head whenever he crossed one of her lines,” Derek said, more than a little hero-worship in his voice. “She was also one of the few Eli would let close. He was ten-months old when…” Derek shook his head. “He’d just barely learned to walk.”

Nodding, sensing that Derek was at the end of his endurance, Stiles laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Derek. I don’t think I ever told you before, but I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

He felt more than saw Derek incline his head. They sat silently for a while, both lost in their thought.

Suddenly, Stiles sat upright. Adrenaline shot hotly through his veins. “Nine,” he whispered.

Derek paused. “What?” he grunted, eyes still glued to the glossy picture.

Stiles gulped, a suspicion rising in him, so unbelievable that it stole his breath. “Nine. Derek, there are _nine_ people in this picture I don’t recognize!”

Derek frowned, pain turning his eyes a dull grey. “Yeah.” His voice was flat, and his gaze flicked towards Stiles and away again, betrayed hurt turning the corners of mouths into bitter twists.

“No, Derek,” Stiles croaked out, desperately reaching for the other man. His hands clamped around Derek’s wrists, he leaned down to force their eyes to meet, talking urgently. “Listen to me. Eleven of your family members were in that fire, that’s what you told Scott, right?”

Pale, Derek nodded. He was tense under Stiles’ hands, muscles bunched as if he was ready to bolt at a moments’ notice.

“So,” Stiles said, rushing through the words to get them out more quickly. “We know that Peter survived the fire, and so did Cora. That means that nine people supposedly died that day; but Derek, according to the incident report, there were only eight bodies recovered from the house!”

The sound Derek made then would forever be imprinted in Stiles’ memory. It was part tortured moan, part desperate cry, wrapped in a blanket of hesitant hope, and it tore straight through all of Stiles defenses. 

Before he even knew what he was doing, Stiles had wrapped himself around Derek, cradling the shaking man against his chest. The picture fell from Derek’s hands as he slumped against Stiles, keening into the folds of his sweater as Stiles pressed his cheek into his hair. 

He was talking softly, the same words over and over again as he rode out the violent sobs tearing through Derek’s body with him. “Someone else survived, Derek,” he chanted. “Someone else survived.”

 

* * *

 

Derek decided against telling Cora. “I don’t want her to drop everything to come here,” he said, but Stiles was sure that he just didn’t want her to harbor false hope. 

It wasn’t like they did _not_ have any leads. In fact, in only a few hours of research, they’d uncovered about a dozen possibilities. They’d made a list, sorting them by probability. 

“Sure,” Stiles had shrugged, letting it go.

Presently, he leaned closer to Derek, reaching for his hand. Derek grimaced, but after a moment of hesitation, his fingers slid through Stiles’, holding tight.

Smiling, Stiles leaned into Derek’s warmth and watched the world fly by as they got ever closer to the first stop on their list.


	2. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, any remaining mistakes are my own, as I'm known to tinker even after receiving Maxx's betaed version. xD

_And of course I forgive_  
 _I've seen how you live_  
 _Like a phoenix you rise from the ashes_  
 _You pick up the pieces_  
 _And the ghosts in the attic_  
 _They never quite leave_

 

The first two leads were busts. 

When they finally tracked down number three – Kyle Hanson, sixteen, in and out of foster care ever since showing up on the doorstep of an animal clinic when he was about eight, muddy and unable to tell the police where he’d come from – Stiles felt almost giddy with hope. 

He glanced at Derek, noting his boyfriend’s clenched jaw and the way he couldn’t seem to take a full breath, shoulders so tense Stiles could practically see the knots forming in his neck. “Relax, Derek,” he said, reveling in the fact that he was allowed to talk to the werewolf like that. Their getting together hadn’t been a big thing. It had just happened, a natural conclusion to the weird tension that had always been between them and this quest they were on had been the trigger. “Wouldn’t want our potential Hale spawn to run away screaming as soon as they get their first look at your ugly face,” he added, grinning as his mind flashed back to that very first kiss, just outside the Beacon Hills register office. Scott's face had been _priceless_. 

Derek's soft chuckle caught Stiles by surprise. “Sometimes I’m not sure you even like me much.” There was almost enough humor in Derek’s voice to cover up the insecurity. 

Deliberately not rolling his eyes, even though he very much felt like it, Stiles nodded. “A natural assumption, given our past, uh, discrepancies,” he said haughtily. “Although, after all the trouble I’ve gone to trying to mold you back into an acceptable member of society, I’m quite proud of the end result.” He paused. “That means I like you, Derek, just in case you didn’t get that.” 

Derek shook his head. He wasn’t quite as tense as before, even if he still wouldn’t look at Stiles directly. “You’re a nut-job, Stilinski.”

Stiles snorted, bumping their hips together. “Pot, meet kettle. And admit it, you’re attracted to my crazy.” 

“Not attracted,” Derek grunted. “More like drawn to. Like a black hole, you just can’t escape it.”

“Now _I’m_ not sure if you even like me,” Stiles snorted and laughed at Derek’s so-so gesture. Sobering, he finally nodded towards the door. “You gonna knock?”

Derek glanced back at the car. “I’m not sure.”

“Good thing you have me then,” Stiles said and banged his knuckles against the door. It was opened immediately. 

Kyle had dark, messy hair and hazel eyes. “Yes?” he said, looking at them in turn, his expression carefully composed. 

Stiles took a breath to answer, the words “Are you Kyle Hale?” burning on his lips, but Derek’s hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks. His fingers bored into him and when he looked over, Derek’s face was a mask of barely contained pain as he slowly shook his head. 

“Never mind,” Stiles mumbled, disappointment lighting through him. “Sorry to bother you.”

Kyle nodded, a confused frown on his face that looked startlingly familiar. “Yeah, no problem.” His gaze lingered on Derek’s face. “For all it matters, I wish I was the one you were looking for.”

Derek jerked as if hit, turning and stalking away without saying a word.

“You and me both,” Stiles murmured, a weak smile all he had to give. His limbs felt leaden as he slowly made his way back to where Derek had already started the car. 

Climbing in, he couldn’t help a feeling of utter defeat rise in him. He had been so sure about Kyle. Almost everything about him had fit. What where the odds that he even looked like a Hale?

“Are you sure-“ he started to ask, only to be harshly interrupted.

“Yes.” Derek’s voice was flat, lifeless, the way it’d been after Boyd had been killed. What little peace he’d found in saving Cora had been burned away by the frustration of this fruitless search.

Pulling away from the curb, Derek turned the car towards Beacon Hills without comment. 

The list seemed to burn a hole in Stiles’ pocket, mocking him with two more promising leads. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth to get Derek to _turn this car the fuck around_ , when Derek’s words stopped him in his tracks.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Stiles heart clenched in his chest. “Derek…”

“No!” Derek looked about ready to rip out the steering wheel, his grip tight enough to leave indentations in the hard plastic. “This is a waste of time! Don’t you think that if anyone had survived that fire, Laura and I wouldn’t have found out about it years ago?”

Huffing, feeling irritation rising, Stiles crossed his arms. “Right. Just like you knew Cora was still alive.” 

Derek’ eyes flashed blue as he shot a glare at him. “Cora kept herself hidden on purpose.”

“Maybe this one is doing the same!” Stiles argued, getting caught up in the argument despite himself. He was tired, exhausted even, and having just spent the second weekend in a row chasing ghosts he didn’t look forward to going back to school and leaving a volatile Derek on his own. 

Never one to deal well with emotional turmoil, it was only a matter of time before something had to give. Derek proved it by growling, “What the hell do you know about it?” 

Stung, Stiles narrowed his eyes. “I’m the one that found out about this in the first place, remember?”

“What, you want a medal now?” Derek sneered. “It’s not like I actually _need_ your help. I never did.”

There was an actual hurt in Stiles’ chest now. This was getting out of control really fast and someone would have to be the mature one here. 

It wasn’t going to be him, though. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” he grunted, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “What about your crazy Uncle Peter’s resurrection plan then, huh? Could have spared yourself a lot of grief if you’d cottoned on to that one on your own.” The moment the words left his mouth, Stiles wanted to take them back, grab them and stuff them back before they could reach his boyfriend’s ears.

Face rapidly losing its color, Derek hit the breaks hard, swerving to the side and coming to a screeching halt on the side of the road, right smack in the middle of nowhere. He was gone in a flash, leaving Stiles to his panicked breathing. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he murmured, fumbling with his seatbelt. Already he could barely see Derek anymore, dusk falling rapidly. Grabbing his jacket from the backseat, he followed his boyfriend into the dark woods without a backwards glance.

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Stiles was shivering. He was stumbling around more or less aimlessly, with only a vague sense of where he’d come from. He’d quickly lost sight of Derek, the werewolf easily blending into the encroaching night. 

“I’m sorry,” he called into the dark, well aware that even though he couldn’t see or hear Derek, didn’t mean that he wasn’t around. “I know that’s no excuse, but please, Derek, you have to believe me that I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Coming to a stop, he leaned against a tree, holding his breath for a moment to just listen. 

When there was no reaction, Stiles wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to keep warm. “Derek,” he said softly, sure that Derek was close by. “Laura’s death wasn’t your fault.”

“How can you say that?”

Turning, Stiles sighed a little in relief. Derek was right there and looking him I the eyes, age-old guilt warring with very fresh disappointment. 

“Because it’s the truth,” Stiles said simply. 

Glancing at the ground and back at Stiles again, Derek gave a jerky nod. When he opened his arms, Stiles stepped into them with no hesitation, hunching down a little so that he could wrap his arms around Derek’s waist. 

“I’m sorry, too,” he heard, grinning at the low rumble under his ear, letting the man’s body heat seep into him.

A howl echoed through the night, faint enough that Stiles’ heart only jumped a little. “Friend of yours?” he quipped, burrowing deeper into Derek’s warmth. 

“That was a wolf,” Derek murmured.

Stiles gave him a ‘duh’ look. 

Derek rolled his eyes. “A real one, not a werewolf.” 

Stiles frowned and rubbed his cold nose against Derek’s sternum. “But there aren’t any wolves in California. I know ‘cause I googled it.”

Snorting softly, Derek pressed a soft kiss to his temple and Stiles felt his eyes droop in utter contentment. “If you say so.”

Again, Stiles felt something tug at the edges of his awareness. It was like an itch, chasing away the lassitude of having Derek’s arms around him. He frowned into the sweet-smelling leather and pulled back a little. “Laura could turn into a real wolf, couldn’t she? Why’s that you couldn’t, when you were Alpha?”

Underneath him, Derek twitched. “I was never meant to become an Alpha. Neither was Peter for that matter. We took that power by force.”

“But it was given to Laura from the start,” Stiles added softly.

“Because she was a born Alpha werewolf, yes,” Derek confirmed, fond exasperation coloring his voice. “And she could be a real brat about it, too.”

“Like Damian?” Stiles asked, craning his head so that he could see Derek’s face. Despite the darkness, they were close enough that he was able to make it out when the corners of Derek’s mouth curled into a faint smile. 

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Exactly like Damian.”

Stiles grinned and pressed a soft kiss to those tempting lips. “Must be a family trait then.” He still couldn’t shake that nagging feeling that he was on to something, but it wasn’t yet a clear enough thought that he was ready to share it. 

The wolf howled again, closer this time. Stiles startled, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the darkness surrounding them. 

“She’s on the prowl,” Derek murmured.

“You can tell that it’s a she-wolf?” 

Derek nodded. “Dad used to take us into the woods and let us play with the wolf cubs. After a while, we could understand each other pretty well.”

With some effort, Stiles managed to keep a straight face. “So you speak wolf?”

Derek whacked him upside the head. It was an astonishingly gentle whack though, more of a caress than an actual reprimand, and Stiles chuckled softly. “Seriously, though,” he asked when it didn’t seem like Derek was going to volunteer anything else. “If it came down to it, could you, like, talk to them? Woof woof grrr means what’s up, buddy?”

Huffing in indignation, Derek peered down at him, a hint of the old annoyance in his gaze. “You’re a moron. Why am I even talking to you?”

Stiles opened his eyes wide, his lips forming a slight pout. “Because you lurve me and since you’re honor-bound to not debauch little underage me, hugging, kissing and bantering is the only kind of foreplay we’re allowed?”

Derek gulped. “Yeah,” he rasped, murmuring the words against Stiles’ lips. “That.”

The kiss was sweet, When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing hard, certain parts of their anatomy _very_ interested in the proceedings. 

“Um,” Stiles said, clearing his throat. “Tell me more about that wolf-thing.” The words ‘to distract me’, went unsaid.

Derek nodded distractedly, eyes still fixed on Stiles’ lips. “I can sort of – feel them, know what they’re thinking on a very primitive level.”

“Like empathy.”

Surprised, Derek inclined his head. “Pretty much, yeah. Dad was human so he couldn’t do it, but the wolves never minded him and he wasn’t afraid of them either.” He smiled, again lost in the memories of his old life. “There was this old wolf bitch that would nip him in the side until he’d rub her belly.”

“A regular John Dunbar, your Dad,” Stiles grinned. When Derek looked at him blankly, he sighed. “Dances with Wolves? Really, nothing? I swear, Derek, sometimes I don’t know why…” He trailed off, thought processes coming to a screeching halt. 

Stepping back, Stiles sort of quivered in place, chasing an idea. He barely felt the cold this time, despite having left his cozy Derek cocoon.

“You’re making that face again.” Derek’s face was carefully blank, but his eyes were burning. “The idea one.”

Stiles shook his eyes, as if he could somehow force his thoughts to order. “Maybe we went about this the wrong way.”

Derek didn’t react. 

Stiles rubbed a hand through his hair. “If born werewolf Alphas can turn into real wolves, then a four-year-old would hardly be more than a cub, right? Maybe that’s how he got out, maybe Damian found a way in his other form, and maybe, just maybe…” he trailed off, chest tight when Derek moaned from deep in his throat, eyes squeezed shut. 

Before Stiles could do more than draw a breath, Derek had thrown his head back, a howl bursting forth, filled with so much pain and regret that Stiles’ eyes burned in sympathy. “It’s nothing more than a theory, Derek,” he babbled, desperate to put pressure on the wound he’d inadvertently opened. “Not even that, more of a hunch? Except that I really have no idea and even if I’m right, it’s not your fault, okay? How could you have known-“

“I should have known!” Derek snapped. “How could it be that _you_ could know about all this, could have _hunches_ like this, when it’s my family and my responsibility?”

Stiles swallowed hard, biting back the part of him that wanted to take offense at that. “Does it matter?” he said, calmly. “The most important thing is knowing what happened, right? Does it really matter whose idea it was?”

Derek looked at him as if he had no idea what he was talking about and suddenly, Stiles felt very much out of his element. “Or, you know,” he added. “Maybe it does matter and I just don’t get it. Whatever.”

Derek sighed. “Stiles.”

It was then that a rustling sound had them whirl around. 

“Holy shit, Derek!” Stiles exclaimed, a bit panicky. “That’s a wolf. There’s a real freakin’ _wolf_ standing right in front of me.”

Derek bared his teeth at the wolf, his eyes flashing blue, but he answered in a calm enough voice. “She won’t hurt you, Stiles. She knows you’re mine now.”

Spluttering, Stiles shot his boyfriend a glare, but scurried behind him anyway, wary of the huge-ass wolf looking at him like he was dinner. “Will you ask her already?” He murmured. “I don’t trust this. She probably has a pack laying in wait to rip our throats out.”

“I can’t just ask her. I told you, it doesn’t work like that.” 

When Derek stopped talking, Stiles gave him a moment. He stared at the broad back, imagining the tattoo underneath the crisp leather and how his tongue was itching to trace the lines of it, curious to know if the skin felt different there…. And woah, this really wasn’t the time to have inappropriate thoughts. 

He chastised himself, trying to ignore how Derek seemed to be caught in a staring contest with the huge she-wolf and let his gaze wander around. Not that he could see much given how dark it was… 

“Uh, Derek,” he murmured, poking him in the back. 

Derek didn’t react. 

Stiles poked him again. “Derek!”

“What?” The werewolf growled, turning back towards him. Stiles didn’t answer, just pointed into the darkness, to where a pair of glowing red eyes were fixed on them.

Stiles could actually hear Derek’s breath stutter in his chest. As if in slow motion, the beta sank to his knees, unmindful of the wet earth soaking his jeans. He whined softly, a sound Stiles had never heard from him before. 

When Derek spoke, his voice was gravelly and shaking, and he only brought one word over his lips. “Damian.”


	3. Growing pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get better. And then they get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a long time in the making. Sorry for the delay and thanks for reading. :)

_And with each passing day_  
 _The stories we say_  
 _Draw us tighter into our addiction_  
 _Confirm our conviction_  
 _That some kind of miracle_  
 _Passed on our heads_

 

For the first few days, they did everything in their power to get Damian to change back to his human form. 

“Maybe he doesn’t know how to do it,” Stiles mused, watching Derek try to guide his Alpha brother through the transformation. Damian, as far as a wolf was able to, looked bored. “He’s been a wolf for how long? Eight years? Maybe he’s stuck.”

“He isn’t stuck,” Derek snarled, looking far too pissed off for comfort’s sake. He hated being ignored. 

“Ooookay,” Stiles drawled, winking at Damian behind Derek’s back. “I guess he just needs a bit of time then to get used to your charming personality again.”

The whole time, Damian gave them nothing, not a hint that he even knew what was going on. 

Despite that initial moment of recognition, Damian ignored any of his brother’s advances. He’d gone with them easily enough, leaving the woods where he’d apparently been living for years behind without so much as a second glance, but ever since stepping foot – or rather claw – inside the loft, he wouldn’t let anyone near at all, not even his brother. 

He refused to let Derek out of his sight, though, lying perched on the highest step of the stairs in Derek’s apartment for most of the days, curled up tight to even fit in the narrow space. 

It would have been funny, if not for the apparent tragedy of the whole situation. It was obvious that Damian was deeply traumatized and that his refusal to interact with any of them was the only way he could feel a sense of control over his life.  
At least, that’s what Stiles had conjectured from all the ‘How to deal with trauma’ and ‘So your boyfriend’s brother is stuck in his wolf form’ google searches he’d done. Not that the last done had turned up much, but hey. Worth a try, right?

Problem was, Damian didn’t only shy away from touch. He also refused to eat, cringing back whenever anyone came too close, even when bearing nice, wolf-digestible food. 

“The poor guy has to be starving by now,” Stiles said, eyeing the plate of raw liver and tenderloin that was still untouched. It was supposed to be a treat for dogs, but Damian couldn’t even be bothered to give it a sniff.

Derek grunted in lieu of an answer, but his right brow twitched in a way it only did when he was seriously worried.

Finally, it was Isaac that had a minor breakthrough. The beta had taken to train with Scott, the newly appointed Alpha taking on the responsibility of getting them as prepared as possible for whatever crazy this town would spit out next. 

This time, Stiles had gotten out of the mandatory session due to it being his turn to watch Damian. He’d air-fived the sullen wolf and had immediately settled down for a long-overdue session of HALO.

When Isaac got home that day, he was clad in a dark sweatshirt, soft cotton pants and sneakers, with a towel wrapped around his neck. “Yo,” he said, waving at Stiles. “What’s for dinner, mom? I’m starving.”

“Don’t call me that,” Stiles called after him, ironically enough from the kitchen where he was preparing dinner. Damnit. “And where’d you leave Derek?”

Isaac grinned as he sauntered over to peek into the pot where a spicy stew was simmering. “Still pouting ‘cause he got his ass kicked, probably.” Throwing up his hands in surrender when Stiles waved a wooden spoon under his nose, he continued, “And don’t you go and get your panties in a twist now, but he’s trying to get the blood out of the upholstery.”

“What blood?” Stiles demanded, almost taking Isaac’s eye out when the beta didn’t answer quickly enough. 

“It was nothing,” he hedged, relenting under Stiles’ glare. “I just miscalculated the distance between my shoulder and Allison’s knife, is all.”

“Let me see.” Stiles had already grabbed one of the first aid kits he’d stashed practically everywhere. Of course, the werewolves didn’t need them much, but now that his father and Scott’s Mom were in the know, and adding to that the fact that they had formed a sort of alliance with the Argents, injuries of all sorts were bound to occur. 

“Jesus, you’re a mother hen,” Isaac complained, but as always there was reluctant pleasure in his voice, the same sort of quiet joy he always tried to hide whenever he felt as if he was treated like family by any of them. “It’s barely a scratch.” 

It wasn’t. Stiles whistled in repulsed awe when Isaac revealed the half-healed wound in his shoulder. Someone had taped a bandage over it, but the hastily applied bit of cloth was soaked through and still the werewolf healing hadn’t kicked in properly. 

“Why is it still like that?” Stiles asked reproachfully, even as he gently pulled off the sodden bandage. 

“Um,” Isaac hedged. “Maybe ‘cause there was a tiny bit of mistletoe juice on the blade?”

Stiles pulled a disgusted face. “You utter fools. Seriously. You guys are going to give me a heart attack at age seventeen. It’ll be a medical anomaly and all over the news.”

Chastised, Isaac studied the ground in front of his sneakered feet. “It was just to give her a bit of an edge over us. A nick with the knife would have stung but not done any lasting damage.”

“But you walked into it to the hilt, am I right?” Stiles sighed, peering at the gaping edges more closely. “Did you at least clean it?”

“Yeah,” Isaac leaned against the counter wearily. “Hurt like a son of a bitch, too.”

“Still does, huh?”

“A bit.”

Skillfully applying a new bandage, Stiles turned to rummage around in the first aid kit. “There are some medium strength pain killers in here, but if you want to wait for Derek…”

But Isaac was staring at Stiles with wide, astonished eyes. “Oh,” he breathed, and it was only when his hand fell down and his fingers connected with fur that Stiles realized what was going on. 

Somehow, Damian had sneaked up on them and was now standing between them, leaning against Isaac’s leg.

“Hey, D-man,” Stiles murmured softly, letting the tips of his fingers glide through the surprisingly soft strands. “Wanted to make sure that Isaac here was okay, huh?”

“He’s taking my pain,” Isaac breathed. “I didn’t know he could do that as a wolf.”

“I’m guessing Damian here will be full of surprises,” Stiles said with a smile. Clear hazel eyes turned towards him, and for the first time, Damian didn’t shy away from direct eye contact. 

Holding the gaze, Stiles gently laid his hand on the wolf’s head. “He just needs a bit of time.”

That night, Damian ate for the first time.

* * *

Of course, they had called Cora the moment they’d brought Damian home. 

_”The hell?”_ She’d exclaimed and then she had began to talk rapidly in a language that sounded a bit like Spanish, but wasn’t.

“Quechua,” Derek explained, before rolling his eyes. “She’s cursing out the tour guide, demanding he bring her back right away. Apparently, they’re halfway up to Choquequirao.”

Stiles hummed in acknowledgement. The two months that Derek had been gone, he’d concocted all kinds of theories about what the siblings were up to, but traveling to Peru to find a mystical Tree of Life had never made the list. Showed how much he knew. 

As he listened to Cora babble away in that unfamiliar language, Stiles leaned into Derek and sighed. “You regretting getting her that satellite phone yet?”

 _”I heard that, Stiles!”_

In the end, they had to content themselves knowing that Cora probably wouldn’t make it back in sooner than a week.

“Shame,” Stiles said after they’d hung up. He was watching Damian studiously ignoring them. There had been no visible reaction to the news that Cora was alive, much to Stiles’ disappointment. “I’m sure she’d just guilt your brother into behaving. Y’know, the way she did with you?”

* * *

By mutual agreement, nobody told Peter. Ever since Scott had become Alpha, Derek’s Uncle had made himself scarce for reasons that were his own, but as Lydia very aptly put it: “Not like anyone misses him, right?”

* * *

About four days after they’d found Damian, as they sat on Derek’s couch and did their usual just-one-more necking before Stiles had to go home, Derek pulled back after only a few minutes. 

Stiles sighed. “Care to share?”

“No,” Derek grumbled.

Stiles waited.

“I just,” Derek said after a minute or so, “I just really wish Mom was here. I’m not sure… I don’t know what to do for Damian.”

Stiles swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. Despite everything, Derek was still intensely private. It didn’t happen much that he volunteered anything about himself. “Yeah, that sucks,” he said, voice rough. “But I also know where you’re going with this, and no. This is your brother we’re talking about. You can’t just give up on him.”

“Easy for you to say,” Derek growled. 

Stiles kept looking at him with what he was pretty sure Scott would call his ‘bitch face’. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Getting up, Derek turned his head up a little, watching Damian sleep. They’d managed to get the wolf to sleep on a ratty armchair in the corner rather than the top of the stairs, but being the emotionally stunted lummox that he was, Derek refused to see that as progress.

“No,” Stiles said hotly, following his boyfriend. With every passing second, irritation whittled away at his patience. “Tell me what you meant by that!”

“I. Meant. Nothing.” Derek sounded as if he was talking through glass.  
Stiles took a deep breath. Last time they’d argued like this, they had hurt each other far more with words than they could have done with injury and he was determined to be the bigger man. Figuratively, of course, because d’uh.

“You are not doing this,” he hissed. “For once in your life, Derek, you will come right out and say what’s on your mind or so help me Scott, I will kick your ass so hard even werewolf healing won’t even know where to begin!”

Whirling around, Derek narrowed his eyes, a hint of blue surrounding his pupils as he stalked back, getting right in Stiles’ face. “You threatening me?”

Refusing to be intimidated, Stiles lifted his chin. “Hell, yeah, I’m threatening you. I’m gonna threaten you all over this damn loft, asshole!”

“You little-,“ Derek started, but a deep growl interrupted him.

In a flash, Damian was between them, thick fur on his back standing straight up as he faced Derek with bared teeth and flattened ears. When Derek responded by showing his own fangs, Damian’s eyes flashed red and he snarled at his brother.

Derek stepped back, pulling a face as if he’d just bitten into Melissa’s citrus tart. 

Looking down at the growling Damian and then up at his growling boyfriend, Stiles had to stifle the insane urge to laugh. “Down, boy,” he murmured, to no-one in particular.

Nobody moved. From the way Derek glared at his little brother, it was clear that he thought Damian had committed some inexcusable offense. But that wasn’t the case, at least as far as Stiles could see. The only thing he’d done was show protectiveness towards Stiles and wasn’t that a good thing if they wanted Damian to connect to someone…?

Astonishment lit through him as suddenly, everything about Derek’s behavior made sense. “Oh, my god,” Stiles gasped, slapping his own forehead. “You’re jealous.”

Derek flushed dully. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are! What, can’t handle the fact that Damian is on my side here?”

Derek shook his head once, his face drawn. Turning his back on them, he stalked over to the window-front, staring into the approaching night. And seriously, if anyone could manage to look out a window aggressively, it was Derek.

Stiles sighed. Damian was still growling softly, but the wolf had relaxed his aggressive stance to some degree, even if he never left Stiles’ side. “He’s not really, you know,” Stiles said, after a few heartbeats of heavy silence.

It took a while for Derek to take the bait, longer than Stiles would have liked for both of their piece of minds. 

“What?” He grunted finally, studying Stiles’ reflection in the glass.

Stiles ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s not about picking sides! Damian needs what he needs and we can’t get mad at him for any of it. He is a traumatized child for fuck’s sake and we shouldn’t even have any business mucking around with his emotional well-being as it is, but it’s not as if we’ve got a choice, right? So can we at least not fight about it in front of him? Please?”

To his complete and utter consternation, his eyes began to burn and in a move that he hoped wasn’t as obvious as it felt, Stiles turned away to hide the burgeoning tears. 

He was tired, a headache was pounding away behind his forehead and more than anything else, he wanted to curl up with Derek and not be the responsible one in this relationship for one night.

A tentative touch on his shoulder had Stiles hiccupping on a sob and suddenly, his head was buried in Derek’s shoulder. A soft kiss was pressed to his temple and instantly, the pain lessened. 

“You must have been hell on your mother,” Derek rumbled, one hand coming up to his neck kneading away the tension there.

“Why?” he murmured into the fabric of Derek’s shirt, slumping against the broad chest. 

“It’s the eyes.”

“What about them?”

“They’re,” Derek hedged, and Stiles could practically feel the blush, “um. Nice, I guess. All big and, uh, brown?”

Stiles snorted in amusement. “Ladies and gentlemen, the last romantic.”

Derek huffed, but didn’t refute the statement. “It’s hard to stay mad when you look at me like that, is all I was saying.” He paused. “Especially if I’m being a jackass about things you have no control over.”

The last was said so quietly that Stiles almost missed it. He nodded in agreement, grinning when Derek huffed in playful indignation. 

From the corner of his eyes, he could see Damian ignore them with the air of a long-suffering little brother. He’d never seen a wolf roll his eyes before, he observed with a certain detachment as he burrowed deeper into Derek’s warmth.

* * *

The next day, when Stiles let himself into the loft, he waved a bag around. He grinned as he heard the soft tread of his boyfriend and directly behind him, the tell-tale clickety-click of wolf claws on concrete.

“What’cha got there?” Derek asked, peering into the plastic bag Stiles had left on the counter. 

“Steaks. Dad bought them by the dozen again and I nicked a few. How do you want yours? Extra rare with a side of blood, I suppose?”

“Ha, ha,” Derek said, “Actually I want some baked-“

“Potatoes,” a rough, unfamiliar voice said from behind them. 

Stiles squeaked and would have thrown the first thing his flailing hands could grab – the steaks, in this case – except that Derek latched on to him, pure astonishment lighting up his face. 

Together they turned, and Stiles felt wild hope flare in his chest. 

Standing naked in the middle of the room, from the first glance of him, it was clear that Damian was a Hale through and through. He was tall for his age, lean and made for endurance rather than brute strength. Damian’s hair was a shade darker than Cora’s, but he had her fine bone structure and Derek’s bushy eyebrows. His hazel eyes gleamed with intelligence, even as they darted about the room nervously. 

Stiles cleared his throat. “Baked potatoes, huh?” he babbled. “Sure, I can do baked potatoes. And sour cream! I could even whip up some green beans, I’m sure I’ve seen some frozen ones in the back of the freezer…”

“Damian loves green beans,” Derek said slowly. “He used to steal mine off my plate.”

“Yours always tasted better.” Damian’s voice was soft, raspy from disuse. He looked at Derek with such a mixture of hope and despair that it about broke Stiles’ heart. 

Derek swallowed hard and looked at the ground, asking gruffly, “So, what made you change back?”

Stiles winced. Leave it to Derek to be even more emotionally stunted than the twelve-year-old with PTSD.

Damian shrugged, hugging himself. “It was time, I guess.”

Derek snorted. “Yeah.” 

Grabbing a blanket off the couch, he held it out to his brother with an unreadable expression. It was clear that he was completely out of his depth and it was all Stiles could do not to whack him upside the head to jump-start his compassion as Damian looked at Derek forlornly.

At the first wet sniff, Derek froze. He stared at the tears rolling down Damian’s face as if he’d never seen such a thing before. 

Stiles clutched the edge of the counter, fighting the overwhelming urge to comfort the quietly weeping boy. One chance, he thought fervently. He’d give his boyfriend one chance to make this right, and then he’d take care of it himself.

As if reading his thoughts, Derek suddenly moaned from deep in his throat and in two long strides he was there, wrapping his kid brother in the blanket and pulling him close. “Hey, puppy,” he murmured, soaking up Damian’s mournful cries in his embrace. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now.”

Stiles did his best to ignore the way his heart swelled in his chest and ushered Derek towards the couch. It didn’t take much for Damian to curl up on top of his big brother, the both of them wrapped around the other like lycanthropic pretzels.

They did have dinner eventually. Much, much later.

* * *

Damian was fastidious, Stiles noticed quickly. The boy showered every morning, and sometimes in the evenings too. He liked to brush his teeth after every meal and even used floss twice daily. 

It was as if he was making up for living rough for so long and Derek was happy enough to indulge him. So after one of those thorough cleaning routines, Damian was a sweet-smelling boy bundled up in a fluffy robe that Stiles’ Dad had gotten for him, along with a few other niceties that neither he nor Derek had thought of. 

Naturally, the smartphone was a big hit, but it was the small creature comforts that had Damian light up with quiet joy. Stiles couldn’t remember ever being excited about cotton pajamas or mittens, but Damian clutched the presents to his chest with a shy smile.

“Boy’s bound to be cold after spending so much time in fur,” his Dad explained a little gruffly after handing off the various packages. 

Once again Stiles thanked his lucky stars for the fact that the Sheriff had taken all the supernatural weirdness surrounding him in stride. 

“Who is that?” Damian said then, startling Stiles from his thoughts. His hair was still wet from his latest shower and his skin was pink. 

Curious, Stiles looked to where the boy was pointing. “Oh,” he murmured, heart sinking. “That’s Boyd and the pretty blonde is Erica. They, uh, died a few months ago.”

“They were pack?” Damian’s voice was still a bit rough, but Stiles could make out a hint of Derek’s inflection in it. 

He gulped, the pain still as raw as it had been on the day he’d walked into the loft to find Derek kneeling over Boyd’s lifeless body. “Yeah,” he rasped. 

Damian nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet them.”

Carefully gathering the boy into a hug, Stiles nodded against the sodden curls. “Me, too, kiddo. Me, too.”

* * *

When they finally got a chance to tell him about Damian finally changing back, Isaac was like a kid in a candy store. “Can I see him?” He asked eagerly, smile so wide it threatened to split his face. 

Derek nodded and Stiles grinned at his obvious reluctance. 

Unlike when he’d found Cora, who had bombarded him with demands and accusations, Derek actually enjoyed spending time with Damian and was jealously guarding every second of it. The two of them got along great, mostly due to the fact that Damian had his big brother well and truly wrapped around his little finger.  
Not that Stiles would ever dare to say that out loud. 

They decided to meet at Stiles’ place, mostly to give Damian the chance to get out of the loft under controlled circumstances. 

“Yeah,” Stiles snorted as he climbed into the passenger seat of Derek’s car. “And it has nothing to do with the fact that you love my Dad’s guacamole.”

Derek rolled his eyes, giving Damian in the back a dead-pan wink in the rearview mirror. “If any food was the reason for me to want to visit the Sheriff, it’d be the panna cotta.”

“It still seems strange to me that you and my Dad bonded over food of all things.”

Derek shrugged as he started the car. “Not like we can talk about you,” he said mildly, shooting Stiles a quick glance.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles resolutely stared out the window. “We are not having this discussion again, Derek. When and how I’m going to tell my Dad about us is the least of our problems right now.”

Derek grunted, but let it drop. Taking slow, deep breaths to calm his rapidly beating heart, Stiles pondered the fact that for all his bravery in the face of rogue Alphas and insane Emissaries, he still was a coward when it came to his own relationship. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his Dad to be okay with him being gay. But it was an entirely different thing for him to accept that his son was with Derek Hale: werewolf, former murder suspect and be-accused-of-statutory-rape older.

Sure, they had decided to wait until Stiles was eighteen for anything more than necking, but he’d rather chew off his own balls than have that talk with his Dad. 

Heaving a sigh, Stiles turned to check on a suspiciously quiet Damian. Not that he was talkative per se – Hale genes and years spent as an animal had seen to that – but Stiles had expected a bit more enthusiasm from the kid at his first outing. 

“You okay, D?”

Damian started and shot Stiles a tremulous smile. “Yeah, I guess,” he gestured toward the rapidly passing streets. “It has changed so much, but somehow it’s still the same.”

At a loss, Stiles frowned, but Derek was nodding. “I know,” he said. “Beacon Hills is still your home, even if it feels like you’re seeing it for the first time now.”

“Yes,” Damian breathed, looking astonished. “That’s exactly how I feel!”

Derek didn’t reply. A muscle in his cheek was twitching and he was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were white. 

Worried – and not only because if he broke it and they barreled right into the oncoming traffic, it was Stiles who would die on impact – he leaned over and smacked a kiss on Derek’s stubble-adorned cheek. “Derek’s a regular Dr. Phil,” he declared with a grin. 

“And you’re a moron,” Derek murmured, but some of the tension bled out of him.

Damian, however, was frowning. “Who’s Dr. Phil?”

“Ugh,” Stiles said. “That’s it. Tonight we are going to have a pop-culture catch-me-up for you. We’ll start with the grumpy cat meme.”

Letting out a growl, Derek grumbled, “Don’t even, Stiles.”

“You look exactly the same!” he exclaimed, fishing out his phone to log onto Tumblr. 

Hearing Damian’s peals of laughter were totally worth the bruises he got dodging Derek’s attempts to get to the phone. 

Isaac was already there when they’d finally wound their way through the heavy afternoon traffic to the Stilinski house. 

“I ran,” he explained, unprompted, earning himself a slap on the back of his head from Derek and a mildly accusing “In broad daylight?” from Stiles. 

Rolling his eyes at them, Isaac turned towards Damian. “Hi! I’m Isaac, but you already know that.”

“Yeah, sort of,” Damian blushed. 

Stiles watched him peek at the tall Beta from under long, thick lashes and had to bite back a smile. Glancing at Derek to check if his boyfriend had cottoned on to the fact that his little brother had developed a crush on Isaac, he cringed at the murderous look in Derek’s eyes. 

“Awesome,” Isaac grinned, oblivious to his impending demise. “I’ve never met a born Alpha before, think you can kick Scott’s ass?”

“Um,” Damian stuttered. “I don’t know?”

“Why don’t the two of you go inside and pester my Dad for a bit? Derek and I will get the cake and join you in a bit.”

Derek didn’t look happy about that, but he acquiesced after a pointed look from Stiles.

Isaac nodded, grabbing a hold of a startled Damian to drag him inside. “Oh, you haven’t met Scott yet, have you? He’s a true Alpha,” they heard him explain. “But I bet you being a born one trumps that.”

“I can turn into a full wolf. He can’t,” Damian offered hesitantly, and Isaac cackled. And just as they were about to step into the house, they heard him add, “I’m faster, too. I think. ”

Stiles laughed out loud, amused by Damian’s self-assurance. “He’s gonna be a handful when he gets the basics down.”

“Yeah.” Derek sounded smug, making Stiles grin at him. Derek rolled his eyes a little, but a smile hovered on his lips. When he turned to open the trunk, Stiles quickly got in between him and the car. 

“Anything you wanted?” Derek asked, amused. 

Stiles nodded. “How about a kiss?”

Thinking it over, Derek shook his head. “Don’t think you deserve one.”

“What?” Stiles spluttered. “However did you come to that conclusion?”

Leaning his head to the sight, Derek appeared to stare down at him, even though they were roughly the same height. “Two words. Grumpy cat.”

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles pouted. “That is just too funny not to share it with your brother, don’t you agree.”

“No,” Derek answered, reaching around Stiles to grab the wrapped plate that held the triple fudge cheesecake Stiles had made earlier in the day. He actually made to move away, but Stiles grabbed a hold of him around the neck and pulled him down. 

He missed Derek’s mouth on the first try, but remedied that by licking his lips open. As soon as their lips had properly touched and Derek was relaxing against him, Stiles pulled away.

“Okay, now we can go inside,” he smirked, quite enjoying the hint of color that had crept up on his boyfriend’s cheeks.

Derek growled, rubbing the back of his free hand over his mouth. He had managed to keep a hold on the cake, but only barely. 

“Come on,” Stiles said with a toothy grin. “My Dad’s waiting, and I don’t even want to know what Damian and Isaac are up to.”

Grumbling obscenities under his breath, Derek strode right past him. Walking up toward the front door at a more sedate pace, Stiles found himself thinking that things couldn’t get much better.

Of course, that was the moment when things took a turn for the worse.

* * *

When they entered the house, they walked right into a Mexican stand-off. Or at least it appeared as one as Scott and Damian were standing in front of each other, eyes glowing red and sizing each other up. 

Isaac was watching them with wide eyes, covering the Sheriff and holding him back. Derek huffed in exasperation, but Stiles felt a flash of hot anger run through him.

“Scott Theodore McCall!” he bellowed. “Stop this nonsense right now or I’ll feed your piece of the cake to Isaac! And Damian, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

At first, it didn’t seem like his words had much effect on the two Alphas. They kept baring their fangs and Damian was already crouching down as if preparing to change fully.

Surprisingly it was Derek that diffused the situation. Shoving the cake at Stiles, he bullied his way in between the two werewolfs and lifted his chin. “If you want to fight,” he said calmly, arms stretched out so that he touched both their chests, “you have to go through me first.”

It took him a moment to realize what Derek was doing, and when it did, Stiles gulped back a wave of emotion. Because Derek was submitting to both Alphas, putting himself on the line to keep the peace. 

It was only a heartbeat later that Isaac was there too, following Derek’s example in showing off his neck. “Please, Scott,” he murmured.

Like air flowing out of a balloon, Scott deflated, the tension leaving his body in a great rush. “Jesus Christ,” he grunted, stepping back and turning away, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

Damian took a little longer to stand down, only relaxing his aggressive stance when Derek loosely wrapped an arm around him and murmured a soft, “it’s okay,” in his ear.

“What the hell was that?” Stiles exploded, meeting his Dad’s worried eyes across the room. “We are a family, for heaven’s sake. Pack, even. I don’t care what Alpha hormones were running through you right now, this is unacceptable behavior, especially from you, Scott!”

“He started it,” Scott mumbled defiantly.

“He’s a child!”

“Now, Stiles,” his Dad interrupted him in a mild tone. “I’m sure both Scott and Damian are seeing the errors of their ways and will make sure to get along from now on. Am I right?” There was a core of steel underneath the light-hearted words and both Alphas looked at him and nodded in unison. 

“Alright then,” the Sheriff continued. “How about we all sit down and have a nice dinner together, okay? Stiles, do you want to put that cake in the fridge for later?”

His heart still beating wildly in his chest, Stiles looked around the room. Damian had worked himself into the crook of Derek’s arm, looking both pleased and apprehensive. 

Isaac had taken Scott aside and was quietly reading him the riot act – judging from the way Scott winced every now and then – and the only one to even look remotely close to chill was his Dad. 

“This is a fucking madhouse,” Stiles groaned, stomping past all of them to get to the kitchen. “You all suck!”

“Language,” his Dad chided and just like that, Stiles knew why he’d had the right perspective all along. Motioning him with the plate to come along, Stiles kept walking. Surprisingly, his Dad did follow him and stood in the doorway with that crooked smile he always wore when he was humoring his son.

“You know,” Stiles said conversationally while he opened the fridge and stuffed the cake inside. “One of these days they are gonna find out that you treat them all like children.”

Grinning, his Dad shook his head. “Nah. They just think I’m sheriffing them into submission.”

“Sheriffing,” Stiles repeated. “That’s a new one.”

His Dad shrugged. “It’s what Isaac calls it.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Ah. And when have you been talking to Isaac?”

Blushing, his Dad looked away. “Uh. You know, just every now and then when he’s around.”

“Around,” Stiles repeated again, feeling like there was an incredulous echo in his brain. 

Sighing, his Dad made a wave motion with his hand. “Come on, I know what you want to ask. Just do it already and get it over with.”

“It’s not really a question, though,” Stiles answered and stole a pig in a blanket. He took a big bite, talking around it. “More of a statement, because I know for a fact that Isaac hasn’t been around the loft much, so that means he’s either staying with Scott or squatting at the subway station and he smells way too clean for it to be the latter.” He swallowed and stuffed the rest of the crunchy dough-covered sausage in his mouth. 

His Dad watched him with disgusted fascination. “It’s like I raised you in a barn,” he murmured.

“Stop changing the subject!” Stiles exclaimed, spitting breadcrumbs everywhere.

“I don’t even know what the subject is, Stiles!”

“Have you or have you not been over at Melissa’s enough to talk to Isaac on several occasions that lead to him giving your parental style a nickname?”

“So it is a question after all.”

“Dad!”

Grinning, his Dad petted him on the head. “Yes. Okay? Yes, I’ve been over at Melissa’s a lot lately, and no, I am not going to tell you more than that.”

Returning the grin, Stiles took another sausage. “Okay. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Stop stealing the food!”

Squeaking, Stiles just moved fast enough to evade the kitchen towel his Dad threw at him and darted back into the living room. 

Isaac looked up at him with a sympathetic moue. “Oh, I know that look. Did you just get Sheriffed?”

“Worse,” Stiles dead-panned. “I got fathered.”

There was a beat of silence. It was Scott that finally broke it, snorting with laughter. “Fathered, really? Didn’t think that one through, huh?”

Grinning, Stiles inclined his head, conceding the point. “That’s okay, _Theodore_.”

Scott blushed. “That is not my middle name and you know it.”

“Got your attention though, did it?”

“Yeah,” Scott grimaced. “Look, Damian -“

A yelled-out “Food!” from the vicinity of the kitchen interrupted whatever Scott was gearing up to say, but it was Damian that shook his head and held out his hand to Scott. “Truce?”

After a beat of tense silence, Scott nodded and the two Alphas shook hands. Over their clasped hands, Stiles met Derek’s eyes, mirroring the frown the found there. This was far from over.

* * *

Over the next few days, Isaac made himself scarce. He was almost never at the loft, opting to crash with Scott instead. Ever since the talk with his Dad, Stiles had begun to notice a pattern. Whenever they coaxed the young Beta into coming over, he never stayed longer than a few hours and every time, something else from his room was gone. 

Isaac didn’t have much, most of his stuff had gotten lost after his Dad had been killed, but the few things he did own, he guarded fiercely. So it was clear to Stiles that whatever was going on was no coincidence.

“Did you tell Isaac he has to move out?” He asked Derek point blank, the moment he saw that the framed picture of Camden was gone from Isaac’s nightstand.

“What? No,” Derek said, eying his new laptop as if it was poisonous snake. “I think this is broken.”

“It’s brand-new, Derek, I’m sure it works perfectly fine.”

“But it’s not doing anything.”

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?” Stiles quipped.

Derek looked at him shrewdly. “Why are you suddenly talking in a British accent?”

“Ugh,” Stiles said, disgusted. “Forget it.”

Turning back to the subject at hand, Stiles decided to ignore his boyfriend’s glaring lack of pop culture knowledge. “Derek. Is there any chance that you said anything that could be construed as a chuck out? And we’re talking real person conversations here, not the Hale brand.”

Derek hesitated. “No?”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Look,” Derek mumbled, clicking on something on the screen. A few dull beeps sounded, making Stiles wince. “It’s not my problem if he and Damian don’t like each other much.”

Stiles frowned, lulling that over. It was more than he’d expected, as far as clues went, but it didn’t make any sense to him. 

The thing was, despite Damian showing some very Hale-specific traits – namely a very specific hesitance to talk combined with a vary distrust that bordered on paranoia – he and Isaac did get along just fine. Despite his infatuation with Isaac, Damian was very much an Alpha and there was a particular undercurrent in their interaction with each other because of that. 

Isaac was a natural Beta, one that did have neither the desire nor the ability to ever become an Alpha himself, so he accepted Damian’s authority, even though the boy was so much younger than him.

What this proved was that once again, Derek had failed to get to the root of a problem that was most likely based on emotions. “Why do I even bother,” Stiles muttered distractedly.

“What did you say?” Suddenly, Derek was right there, his heat spilling over what little distance there still was between them. Stiles looked up into Derek’s hazel eyes, amazed at the new warmth he found there. Shivering pleasantly, Stiles accepted the slow kiss, feeling a low thrum pulse through him; not quite arousal, but more than simple pleasure.  
In this moment, he felt more alive than ever before. 

“Ah, there it is,” he murmured against Derek’s lips, smiling when the hand that had crept up to his neck tightened in response.

When he pulled back, Derek’s eyes were soft. “I knew it.”

Stiles shook his head, trying to clear it. “Huh?”

Derek lips twitched. “You only put up with me because of my kissing skills.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed easily, tracing Derek’s brow with the tip of a finger. “That and your gorgeous body. Seriously, why else would I want you? Certainly not because of your fierce loyalty or your habit of throwing yourself in the line of fire for the people you love. And I’m absolutely positive that it’s not the way you dug your way out from under the biggest shitload of emotional baggage I have ever seen either.”

With every word, Stiles was fascinated to see an ever-darkening flush creep up on Derek’s cheeks, until the older man seemed to be unable to hold his gaze any longer. 

“Nah,” Derek croaked, clearing his throat uneasily. “Can’t be that.”

“Nah,” Stiles repeated softly, stepping back and patting Derek’s rock-hard abs. “Must be the six-pack then.”

* * *

“What is this?” Isaac asked, looking a bit cornered. He had just stepped through the door, Derek behind him, both of them expecting food to be on the table. Which was fair, since Stiles had lured them home with the promise of said food. 

“Surprise!” Stiles grinned, throwing out his arms. “This, my friend, is a packervention!”

“A what?” Derek and Isaac said at exactly the same time. 

Half-tempted to scream ‘jinx!’ in their faces, Stiles contented himself with explaining. “It’s an intervention. But since we’re pack and this concerns pack-related things, I’m calling it a -“

“- packervention,” Isaac interrupted. “Yeah, I get it. But what is it for? Did I, uh,” his eyes flicked to Derek, “did I do something wrong?”

“No, don’t worry,” Stiles said soothingly. “If anything, this is Derek’s fault.”

Isaac perked up. “Oh, yeah?”

Derek grunted. “Stiles thinks I made you leave. Which I didn’t.”

Isaac looked back and forth between them. “Uh,” he said carefully. “Not in so many words, no.”

“But in fewer words? Grunts and gestures and get-out vibes?” Stiles was definitely having too much fun with this.

“Kind of,” Isaac hedged. “I thought that was what you wanted, Derek.”

Derek scowled. “I never did.”

“But you didn’t tell me to stay either!” Isaac exclaimed, crossing his arms. “I just figured that now that you have your brother back and Stiles all but moved in, there wasn’t enough space here for all of us. Especially when Cora gets back.” He hesitated. “And since you’re not my Alpha anymore, I thought…”

“That’s right,” Derek said gruffly, and Stiles could only guess how much it cost him to admit that. “I’m not.”

Isaac gulped and the corners of his mouth dipped down in disappointment. “So I was right.”

“No!” Derek exclaimed. “I’m not responsible for you now, but you’re still important to me.”

Isaac looked about as stunned as Stiles felt. Derek really had come a long way since creating his ill-fated little pack. 

Derek took a deep breath. He looked pained when he said,” This is your home, Isaac. We’ll make room.”

Isaac blushed, a slow smile spreading on his face. “I’d really like that.”

“Missing my food?” Stiles quipped, grinning when the Beta snorted derisively. 

“Dude, I’ve been living with Melissa.”  
“He has a point there.”

“Way to stab me in the back, Derek,” Stiles protested half-heartedly, grinning when the doorbell rang right at that very moment. “Ah, the take-out’s here.”

Isaac and Derek shared a glance, both rolling their eyes a little.

“Okay,” Stiles said, drawing out the o sound as he buzzed the delivery guy in. “Glad we could clear things up. Isaac stays, Damian does too, we are sans one wolf and Cora is on her way back. Still sketchy on the who’s the Alpha front, but we’ll figure that one out as soon as Scott and D junior can be in the same room without trying to claw their respective eyes out. Did I forget anything?”

“I hope not,” a dark voice said from the doorway, and it was only then that Stiles noticed the sudden tension in the room. “But I thank you kindly for the update.” 

Peter still looked like his handsome, homicidal self. He was wearing a faint smile, but his eyes were cold as he looked them over. “So, what is this I hear about your prodigal brother returning, nephew of mine? I really hope the card got lost in the mail or I’ll be very disappointed you didn’t tell me about this earlier, Derek.”

Derek growled from deep in his throat. “You stay away from Damian.”

“Too late,” a faint voice said from behind Peter. Damian was standing stock-still, shock the forefront emotion radiating from him.

“Ah, there he is,” Peter said, an odd mix of gentle reproach in his voice. It sent shivers down Stiles’ back. “It’s good to see you again, Damian.”

For a long moment, Damian didn’t react. He stared at Peter as if he was seeing a ghost. And then he let out a sudden snarl, red bleeding into his eyes. In a flash, he had shoved his way inside the loft and was up the stairs without a backwards glance.

Peter watched him go, looking remarkably unsurprised. “Huh,” he murmured. “Not quite the warm welcome I’ve been hoping for.”

“Get out, Peter,” Stiles said, half his attention on the sound of stuff breaking from Damian’s room.

“Watch your tongue,” Peter replied pleasantly. “Or I’ll rip it out of your mouth.”

The next moment, Derek had his Uncle by the throat, bodily throwing him out and down the stairs. “If you ever talk like that to him again,” he snarled, “I’ll forget that we share the same blood, understood?”

Getting up slowly, Peter dusted himself off. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said and fixed Stiles with a hard look. “See you around then.” He was gone before ether of them could tell him not to bother.

“What a creep,” Isaac muttered, and Stiles couldn’t help but agree whole-heartedly.

“Is he gone?” Damian asked timidly. He was sitting on the top of the stairs, on the very step where he’d so often lain as a wolf. There were tearstains on his cheek.

“Yes,” Derek said, visibly trying to get the rage back under control and so it was Stiles that walked towards the boy, stopping at the foot of the stairs to give him some space. 

“You okay?”

Damian nodded, then shook his head, a fresh wave of tears rolling down his cheeks. “I didn’t know he was still alive.”

Derek cleared his throat, ignoring Stiles’ knowing look. “Yeah, well, I wanted to wait until you were settled in to tell you about him. We have an, uh, complicated relationship.”

“Understatement,” Isaac mutered.

“I should have known!” Damian’s face crumbled into a mask of pure despair. “You had no right to keep this from me!”

“Damian-“

“No!” Vaulting over the handrail, Damian came to a stand in front of Derek, claws out. “You don’t get it, Derek!”

Derek stood perfectly still, arms hanging down loosely down his side. He would make no move to defend himself should Damian decide to attack him, and it made Stiles’ heart jump in his throat. “Then tell me.” 

“He made me do it, I didn’t. I couldn’t…” Damian hiccupped, sobs interspersing every word. “You don’t know what he did, Derek, he made me. He. He made me kill Eli!”

The words seemed to be wrenched from his very soul and the moment they were out, Damian collapsed into a heap on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. 

Derek was frozen, staring down at his little brother as if seeing him for the first time. 

Stiles flashed back to the photograph he had uncovered, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Derek had named every person on it, and in front of his inner eye, he saw the image of a laughing, chubby toddler.

Eli. Whom Damian had killed.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from "Eric's Song" by Vienna Teng


End file.
